22 – Dr. Weiss
DR. WEISS
Night Eleven
“ D o no harm.”
Those three little words in the Hippocratic oath seem fairly easy to follow—until you meet a patient who makes them fucking impossible. Certain cases should come with an “unless” clause.
Before I took the detour from brain surgeon to behavioral specialist, I prided myself on shadowing doctors into the OR. They were masters with scalpels, slicing and stitching the brain to make the patient whole again.
It wasn’t until years later that I began seeing some of these so-called “fixed” patients in my office, begging for sessions with me.
Their surgeries had gone well. No pain, no complications. But something deeper—something vital—was broken.
Instead of reaching for a scalpel, those doctors should’ve picked up a clipboard. Maybe—just maybe—we’d have fewer fucked-up people walking around today.
Then again, I’m currently sitting on the edge of my bed, waiting for the sound of Sadie’s footsteps in the kitchen. Waiting to steal a glimpse of her. To find an excuse for her to come to my side of the cabin again.
I’m risking my entire storied career just for the chance to feel this woman’s mouth again. And most of the harm I’m doing is to myself.
“You’ve already fucked up halfway,” I mutter. “Might as well see it through to the end.”
Pulling on a T-shirt, I head down the hall and peer around the corner.
Sadie isn’t in her room. She isn’t in the kitchen.
I step into the session room, thinking she might be waiting there.
When I hit the lights, the only thing waiting for me is her empty chair.
I haven’t been locking her patio door at night—I trust her—and I’m dreading the consequences of that decision. If she’s slipped through a blind spot during camera turnover, no one will ever believe I didn’t help her.
Bracing for the worst, I twist the patio doorknob and push it open. The guards are close, chatting and smoking loudly. There’s no way they missed seeing her if she tried to run.
I’m about to check if she slipped onto my patio when I hear water splashing from her bathroom.
Approaching the doorway, I stop cold at the sight of her in the tub. Her hair cascades in wet waves down her back, and while her stomach and legs are covered in bubbles, her breasts are fully exposed.
“You’re about five moves away from losing our game,” I say.
Her gaze snaps to mine, blush blooming in her cheeks.
“Then you’re only three moves away,” she replies, her eyes beckoning me closer.
I approach the tub and sit on its edge.
“Can I ask you something personal, Dr. Weiss?”
“Only if you say my name…”
“Okay…” She pauses for several heavy seconds. “Can I ask you something personal, Ethan?”
“You may, Sadie.”
“If you knew you wouldn’t get in trouble, would you ever consider doing a favor for me?”
“Depends on the favor…” I slip a hand under the suds, pretending to search for the loofah. “I suppose I’d ‘consider’ doing anything for you.”
“Because you’re hoping to fuck me before the guards take me away forever?”
I roll my eyes and retrieve the loofah, then slide down so her back is facing me.
“That’s exactly why I haven’t.” I drag the sponge slowly over her shoulders, brushing the bristles along her rose’s winding stem. “You’ve got some warped wiring when it comes to sex.”
“So the stuff we’ve done so far means nothing to you?”
“Stop.” I tap her back gently. “Don’t twist this.”
“Sorry… It’s just—it’s been a long time since someone touched me, and I always assume…”
“That someone has an ulterior motive?”
She nods.
“Well, I don’t,” I say. “I have more to lose than I could ever gain by crossing that line with you.”
Silence.
I press the loofah against her arms, then squeeze shampoo into my palm and begin massaging her hair.
Her head tips slightly toward me, a sigh slipping from her lips—barely audible over the water.
“The thing is,” she murmurs, “doctors get a lot of respect in prison.”
“Good to know,” I say. “I’ll ask for more survival tips before you go.”
“Can I ask you something else personal?”
No. “Yes.”
“If I do manage to get released, would you come see me?”
“I’d do better than that,” I lean in and kiss the back of her neck. “I’d come pick you up.”
“What about?—”
“Shhh.” I hush her before she can finish.
“It was just about Dateline, ” she whispers. “Will you let me watch the new episode they’re doing on me?”
“Maybe not in real time,” I say. “But I’ll find a way to let you see it after it airs.”
“Thank you, Ethan.”
“You’re very welcome, Sadie.” I slide my fingers through her sudsy hair and gather it into a bun atop her head.
She falls silent. Obeys.
And I don’t know which one of us should be more afraid of that.
“Now, be quiet until I’m finished with you…”